Kink Meme IV Fills
by Vanessa S. Quest
Summary: Assortment of kink-fills, all but two are H/R, one is Diana/Spencer  Mama's Boy  and one is Gideon/Diana  Flighty Hearts . They do not have a sequential order. About 4 more will come before this is complete.
1. At the Gay Bar HR fake MR

Reid isn't used to pretending to have a boyfriend. Quite the inverse, actually. He usually spends his days pretending to work and not fantasizing about walking up to Hotch's desk and fucking and sucking him until he's blue in the face instead of the balls.

That said, this situation was ...unique. He knew that as a profiler it was his obligation to oblige, even if it did lead to several awkward photos Garcia snagged and even more awkward looks from Morgan who knew about he and Hotch, and more still awkward looks from a slightly jealous Hotch that Reid could do the 'openly gay' thing so easily- when it was an act and everyone knew it.

Garcia and Prentiss had pounced on the boys, making their metrosexual Morgan look a touch less metro and a grope-more homosexual. Oddly, they left Reid alone, either thinking he was fine as he was or thinking they didn't have anything to work with. Reid didn't ask and wasn't about to, either.

It was the third night in the club- Reid almost looked punched-out with how dark the bags under his eyes were. He'd been pulling back-to-back double shifts between the undercover work and the actual profiling part of the job, but the department didn't have many black cops, and of the ones there, no one was qualified to play gay. Three women, two near-retired, and one so f'ugly that dogs whimpered when they saw him. No, regrettably, there was only one real option- Morgan. Double regrettably, there was no way in hell he'd let his guard down for some stranger he just met to hit on him in a less than hetero way without losing his cool. He had trust issues, so he'd only do this with someone he trusted. Luckily, Reid fit, and he trusted him- double bonus Morgan knew it was a complete act thanks to knowing of his friend's vivid sex-life.

There was a reason he stopped teasing him about being 'virginal' about two years back.

It probably doesn't seem fair that they'll write off wining and dining in swank hotel restaurants near the clubs, or how they got to order several very fine- very fine drinks. Garcia joined them at the club, as they ordered up the top-shelf stock, she'd order just as many virgin versions to swap out and keep them straight in case the bartenders were less than saints themselves.

Reid wished he could be a little drunk, even when dancing with Hotch, he'd never done the moves his best friend was putting on him. Derek 'Soul Train' Morgan was undulating against him and for the sake of cracking this case, he was grinding him right back. His ass had never been so close to another man's junk that he wasn't actually fucking.

And then there was three,Reid was sandwiched between another man, he was darker than Morgan, and in the dim lighting of the club it made it hard to see the characteristics of the man's face, but he was getting hot and heavy for the two. He cupped Reid's cheek and then Morgan grabbed his wrist.

"Back off man, that's -my- baby." Morgan said, continuing back to dry-humping his ass in public, or did that count as frottage? Morgan turned Reid's face to his and slipped a chaste kiss on the lips, flashing the man a look.

Not a 'get lost' look but an, 'interested?' look. The man bit, hard, but not before putting Reid's fingers in his mouth and sucking.

It was the strangest sense he had ever had. Sandwiched between two men, both 'wanting to fuck him' in all the body language. It was intimidating to say the least and Reid was never so forward as to be confident in that situation unless it was with his actual lover.

He let out a whimper, easily confused for a 'begging for it' sound, and the man pulled back and bit his wrist, licking up it as he reached for Morgan's barrel-chest and gently rubbing it to inspire something.

It did, but Morgan didn't want to beat the shit out of an innocent person, so he had to wait.

When the man looked toward the back room, where witnesses had seen the victims get led off to before never being seen alive again, Morgan gave a strong nod.

As the three made their way over there, a woman bumped into them. Prentiss, apologizing and acting like a drunk who just didn't get the meaning 'gay' slipped her hand to Morgan's crotch.

"Wow, you hiding a pistol in there Mister, or are you gunning for someone?" She winked, Morgan just nodded a bit and separated from her.

"Oh you're no fun..." she pouted, turning with her own gun drawn she faced the unsub. "What about you? Do YOU have a pistol on you?"

He attempted to break into a sprint, but Reid clothes-lined him, which, Reid had just realized apparently REALLY HURTS the person doing the clothes-lining just not as much as the guy being clothes-lined.

He crashes to the floor, Reid rolls him on the back and cuffs him while doing a brisk search. He pulls out four zipties.

"My my my, no gun, but you definitely have some tricks up your sleeves." He finds the knife and bags it.

Morgan hoists the man up and drags him out the back door and into the arms of the awaiting LEOs.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

"Placing you under arrest." Morgan said as he shoved the man to the cops.

"What for? Because I had a pocket knife and tie-wraps? Dude, I'm an electrician!"

"We'll see about that, but for now, you're under arrest for assaulting a federal agent."

"What? WHEN?"

Reid juts out his wrist, showing the bite mark.

"Seriously... you're a fed...? I got into the wrong businowww-sssss..." Hotch grabbed his arm and pushed him into the squad car.

"Watch your mouth, you will not speak to my agents that way!" The LEOs nodded, viewing the alpha male's protective nature over his subordinates as admirable, not possessive. Luckily, they weren't the profilers.

Back at the hotel, Reid was cleaning up, rinsing off the sheen of sweat, saliva, and pheromones the past three days had built up on his skin. As he donned his sweats, Morgan knocked, entering his room.

"How's your wrist?"

"It'll be okay, to be safe I'm taking amoxicillin. The amount of bacteria in an adult human's mouth is over one-"

"I don't want to know." Morgan's hand went up quickly cutting his friend off.

When Hotch came in, Morgan rolled his eyes. "And I definitely don't want to see how it's done..." he gave Hotch a look.

"You two seemed to figure that out well enough. Too well, in fact, let's not do this again." Hotch says in a stern, slightly pissy voice making Reid smile.

His face falls deadpan as he looks at Morgan, "Take me, take me now oh my glorious knight."

"Baby I'll ride you like a horse." Morgan said in just as flat a delivery.

Hotch gave a small defused laugh, "Better. Much better, next time- act like that, then maybe the LEOs won't think of using you instead of doing the job themselves. Reid, Morgan, get some sleep- in different rooms unless you want Garcia to have evidence for the 'office affair'."

"Sure thing, I'll just stop by Garcia's room and borrow her bed. Or share." He smiles wolfishly as he steps out.

"Hmm, sharing would be nice, we didn't have a hotel room with all the undercover work we were doing. You wouldn't mind if I used your bed, now would you... Hotch?"

Hotch pulled him into a deep kiss. "That's fine for now. But we'll be heading out soon. When we get back you can use my bed some more too, if you're not too opposed to sharing."

"Sharing -is- caring."

"And I care, do you care?"

"Oh, oh I care... I'll care for an hour straight if you care just right."

"Hmm, I think you need a proper caring to, about eight hours in a night."

Reid's eyes went wide, "I have been up for 3 days straight, if you fucked me for 8 hours I'd probably be bonkers in the morning."

"Alright, I'll settle for 2 hours of 'caring' and then 8 hours of spooning you while you sleep."

Fin.


	2. Hero's Sword, Savior's Shielf HR

Hero's Sword, Savior's Shield

It started in a small city outside of Portland, Maine. A series of abductions that led to murders, and bodies washing up along the shoreline, the sort of thing that didn't just beg for the BAU- it called out to Reid.

A geographic profile is one thing, but a geographic profile accounting for water current, wave travel, suppositions of timelines to variables of decay thanks to salt-water on fresh corpses; those all specifically asked for one Dr. Spencer Reid, the magician to solve. And he did, he traced the tables and even though it took him three grueling days and enough caffeine to induce arrhythmia- atrial, he'd have died if it had actually been ventricular- he had put them in a 100 yard radius of where the killer was dumping the bodies, and when.

Impressively, he also happened to put them there on the day he had a woman to dispose of, a still very breathing woman. Of course, the terrain was rough, cliff-faces, underwater caves, and cold. It icy water of early April is anything but forgiving but the team went out and grid-searched the area.

Reid had just been the winner of the draw, so up he went on the twenty-foot embankment to search the narrower caves, and then he saw it. It was the silvery gleam of a fish hook, the kind that sent visions of tetanus booster shots spinning through his head as he spun to miss it.

He fell into a wall of barnacles and felt the protective barriers of his sleeves turn into ribbons, as did a few layers of skin from his wrist to forearm on his left arm. His right arm, his right hand more precisely, had took that spin well. Landing on the holster he trained his gun on the unsub and with one succinct shot sent the man down hard.

He wasn't about to get up, not with the blossom of blood red erupting from his throat, but Reid still cleared him, kicking the hook away.

A half-naked woman- legs bound up as if he were going to make her a mermaid, just stared in an ethereal high of someone who might just survive the unsurvivable.

It takes his team a good twelve minutes to navigate into the cave system and find him, his vest is covering the woman's breasts, he'd have given her his top shirt, but he just couldn't manage the buttons. In the dim lighting he hadn't realized just how much red he was also emitting, but as flashlights hit him, he realized rather quickly he'd hit an artery- maybe two.

As one paramedic stitches up his arm, the other loads the woman onto the bus. "Ladies first." He says, smiling- _smiling_. Bleeding that bad and he managed a warm, sincere bliss of upturned lips. He flops into the SUV with the promises of Hotch taking him directly to the closest hospital drifting over the airwaves.

It's half a day later when Reid finds himself in a predicament.

His arm, engorged with a nasty infection is too painful for him to maneuver, but the grimy salt-water residue on his skin, in his hair, conjoined with his clothes- it has to go. As he holds a plastic ziplock bag contemplating how he'll even pull it on without passing out in pain, Hotch appears.

"Need help with that?"

"God, yes. Please. Morgan would never let me live it down, and Rossi… well, can you see him doing something like that for one of us? Really? It's too menial, it's beneath him- helping his teammates." He lets out a soft laugh and Hotch gives a meaner snicker to go with it.

"Accurate enough of an assessment, I'll draw up a bath."

Reid thanks him as the older agent adjusts the bag without hitting the layers of cotton bandages. Once done, he enters the bathroom and twelve minutes later emerges. His arms encircle Reid's waist, shocking him as hands find his zipper and button and undo his khakis effectively. "While I know you can do a geographic profile with one hand tied behind your back, dress pants are surprisingly more difficult."

Reid blushes as he thinks just how funny that is to hear, but appreciates the assistance all the same. By time Hotch has stripped him, he is pushing Reid into the bathroom with an insistent nudge of someone not wanting the guilt of getting him sick… well, sicker. The nasty infection within his arm is already a qualifier if Reid had to say.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he expected to hear the door click and a faint, "Sayonara" in the background, not the sound of loafers clacking on tile behind him.

"Hotch…?"

"Don't tell me you didn't need to wash your hair…?"

"Uh, yeah I do, but…?"

"I'm here to help you get cleaned up. Granted your arm isn't broken, but that soft cast needs to keep out of the water if you want to keep out of the ER, don't worry, I'm a bit of a professional at this whole 'giving baths' thing. It's a parent thing."

"I don't know, I don't see any blue Crayola water-paints or dinosaur floats." Reid says, goading, maybe his fever has him talking crazily, or maybe he can't believe the situation is real so it's safe to let his honest joy beam.

"Ah, but what I lack in Crayola and Dino-toys I make up for in book selections- electronic book selections, actually. If that gets ruined Garcia won't be too happy with me though, so try to keep it dry."

There is a moment's hesitation before taking up the device and standing there naked, but the dizzying swell of heat from the hot water, fever, and, well… other areas best hidden in steamy water, Reid eases himself into the water and takes hold of the tablet. Hotch navigates him to a slide-show display of Jules Verne and materializes a terrycloth washrag, body wash- the manliest he could find at the Rite Aid being gardenia, which oddly enough fit Reid even down to the purple bottle, and began the painstaking ministration of exfoliating a layer of sea-slime.

He tested the waters with the arms, making it more sensual but still pragmatic as he dipped across his chest and to his stomach, he quickly wrapped back around to Reid's back and turned it into a massage before going even lower and being slightly less than professional, as one hand did that, Reid's arm set the tablet down, turning to gawk before Hotch's second hand worked on Reid's neck and face with a soapy mesh of bubbles. When he wiped that away he leaned in and kissed Reid while his eyes were still shut. They opened mid-way, as did his mouth.

Reid was half out of the tub by the time Hotch lost his shoes and toed his socks off- half over the tub himself. As one hand massaged Reid's manhood, another lathered Reid's hair while Hotch made out with him in the tub. Before Reid knew it he was dipping into the water, back touching the floor of the tub as Hotch rinsed his hair and cupped his balls, tongue tasting more and more of his subordinate's delicious mouth, Reid in turn mapping out a course himself of Hotch's oral cavern. One hand feverishly worked to unbutton the dress shirt and found when motivated enough- and apparently a half-naked woman was not- he could manage.

Hotch extracts his hand from Reid's crotch long enough to help alleviate some of the tightness in his own pants by ditching them. Now, fully free of the binding clothing, he unplugs the drain, lying on top of Reid he continues his scrutinies of Reid's body, fully enjoying each and every touch.

What had made him snap? What made the veil of sanity- of section chief and subordinate snap? It wasn't that Reid had saved the woman, but that he had been hurt doing so. Hotch knew Reid to be a very capable man, but being mortal? That had lit the fire under his ass and he was happy to report that the fire pooling in his groin yearned only for one.

Gently he stretches Reid, and within three minutes he has three fingers inside him. He pulls them out, uses the Gardenia bodywash as lubricant and slips inside. It burns a little, and he realizes that not all flowing liquids are made to be lubes, but neither he nor Reid voice the discomfort as their bodies start to gyrate in rhythm to each other.

By time the water would have cooled, the heat in their organs are only surging more. The sex is slow, methodical, and mapping. Mapping a course that they will have to traverse again, but the sweet scent of gardenia grounds them. Hotch is very pleased he did not go with sea breeze, he's sure Reid would have turned him down with the association.

Fin.


	3. I Bruise Easily HR

I bruise easily.

It started out like a normal day, although Reid was a bit stiff. That crick in his neck had been the end of the sanity though.

He didn't realize Morgan had given up his own paperwork to people-watch for the last ten minutes, and when Reid had put his hand to the back of his neck and leaned his head left then right quickly- cracking his neck FINALLY, thank god for small favors, the bruise on his wrist peeked from behind his cuff.

He missed how Morgan's eyes went red with fury. Five minutes later when the man cornered him in the break room demanding, "WHO?" he started to get the idea.

He turned crimson first, insisting it was nothing, that it was an accident, regrettably going through the battered spouse repertoire before Hotch came in to see what the commotion was.

"Some bastard put his HANDS on him! When I find out who..."

"That bastard would be me." Hotch says, deadpan, crossing his arms. "If you're done, you both have work to do..." Hotch side-steps as Morgan lunges for him before Reid- still crimson and trying to explain goes from stiff deer-in-the-headlights to glomp-tackle.

"Morgan, stop! Really, it's... IT'S NOT what you think... Aaron I told you I'd NEVER live this down if..." He stops, muttering the smoldering phrase before almost whispering- completely hushed, "I *like* it when he does it to me... believe me, it takes more begging from me to get him to rough me up a little than it took for Garcia to convince Hotch to let her keep the iPads."

Morgan caught Reid's deer-in-the-headlights, his body eventually going from hostile to slack and added a quiet, "Oh," himself before refilling his cup of joe and walking back to his desk praying his mind wouldn't burn that image or thought into the core of his being.

Reid lets out a soft, "Aaron, I know this is work and all... but that just made me so hot, tonight I want you to fuck me even harder... but after that I'll need an appointment with the chiropractor."

Fin.


	4. Flighty Hearts DianaGideon

This isn't the sort of thing Gideon is supposed to be doing. This is wrong, this is... immoral.

He had spoken to the woman three times in his 'courtship' of Reid to the FBI and yet even knowing of her condition, he can't help but find her so attractive. Physically, no, he'd never seen her. Apparently there are strict rules about who could come and see the in-patients, but emotionally, intellectually...

...Dr. Spencer Reid, age 20, is a genius, to this there is no question... but Dr. Diana Reid? She is by far the most brilliant woman Gideon has ever had the pleasure of speaking with. Her defiance that her son shouldn't be in such a dangerous position, that he needs taking care of, that he needs a father figure more than a boss...

He files these under things he will do if it gets her to give her son the approval to go ahead and do it, to let him join the FBI.

And he does. Reid might secretly write to his mother every day, but Gideon makes a call every week. And even when he tries to convince himself he has to try elsewhere, he just can't forget the sophisticated way Diana can pour on and on the information with a seduction that Spencer in his youth just does not have.

When he leaves the BAU he leaves a note in the cabin for Spencer- but he takes a road trip to Las Vegas to -see- Diana.

To his absolute befuddlement she allows him in, and for the first time in almost eighteen years, she has the kind of coitus that can clear her head for an entire afternoon.

...It's regrettable that this is when she realizes that as the man has built himself up to be her Spencer's mentor, his stand-in father figure and then subsequently LEFT him again that this is not something she can pursue. Had she been able to, Gideon certainly would have released her into his care and grown old with the woman, but now? No. Now he just has to accept that maybe friendship with her is redemption for what he had done to Spencer by being yet another man to walk out on him when he depended on him.

Gideon really was a shitty father, he couldn't even manage to keep in Stephen's life, how the hell did he expect better odds with a kid who wasn't even his?

Fin.


	5. Mama's Boy DianaSpencer

Reid thinks about the sayings, "All in the family" when he recalls an event shortly after he turned 18 and not so far from when he committed his mother personally.

His mother had never been well, and apparently the social norms of reading romantic poetry to your kid had all signs indicating trouble, but what did he know about it? Just because he's a genius doesn't mean he'd been worldly enough to grasp some things mothers and sons just don't DO together.

Until they crossed that line that is. It was the first time in 8 years he'd even heard her mention his father's name, all the while petting him heavily.

It was confusing, it felt amazing, it burned him like a hot poker jabbed in the eye. He was experiencing the Oedipal complex, except this was completely off paper and in real physical experiences.

The next day he committed her, not because it felt right, but because it felt so wrong that he didn't have the heart to physically push her away. If the only way he could protect her from herself- from what he'd have let her do in the throes of delusion because of an emptiness and social isolation he felt- she was better with wards more capable.

That's what he told himself as he wrote her every fucking day. I'm writing so I don't feel so guilty that I don't go see her... ... ... and hope she fools around with me again. The ugly part, thankfully, he's usually smart enough to scrub clean for his coworkers.


	6. Sleeping Prince HR

Sleeping Prince

This is the second time this has happened, but this time the roles are reversed. He can't say it is unexpected, but he is so thoroughly tired he hardly has a mind to think on the matter. That, and the drinking, he sort of lost count- eidetic memory apparently loses to black-outs.

He knows where he is, he senses it more than anything else, he's in Hotch's bedroom. In this bedroom, on solemn occasions where the only way to make the day end with any solace of sleep is between the carnal fucking, binge drinking, and hopes that tomorrow just shows up to replace the day.

Last time Hotch had been the decimated one, Reid had reeked of boozes from just catching the man's suit jacket before the Armani hit the floor. _Armani_. He was loosely versed thanks to Prentiss- Emily- on the matter. He hiccupped a little, he wasn't sure who'd be his fashion life-coach from here on out let alone with sagely advise and no intention of making him break unspoken fashion codes for the lols, he believed Garcia called it. Sadistic pleasure is what Morgan got out of Hawaiian shirts.

His eyes tightened and he teetered into the bed, there was a hand working its way to his nipple over his shirt. Frottage was new. Then again, most of this was. He and Hotch had done this only once before so it was hard to compare, especially when he had been the one 'comforting' Hotch last time.

There is a feeling of nostalgia to the motions, and Reid lets out a sex-kitten purr that no one, not even the man on top of him, has heard before. Spencer Reid was no virgin, and despite all the hookers that fly to him like a honey-trap, his first time was not with a paid friend… but he's never been in love. He's never been in a steady state, and he supposes he never will be.

Stability just wasn't in his cards. Maybe that's why he's getting off so much right now, in this hazy state where he couldn't pinpoint where this is a dream and where this is actually happening. Hotch is sucking his neck, and if he thinks to check, maybe tomorrow will have proof of that encounter.

In the throes of tingling sensations up and down his manhood and long torso, he feels his body constrict, and he truly hopes he won't puke before he cums, and he is so close to cumming.

Then there is a wash, the thoughts drown out, Hotch is lying on top of him, breathing erotically into his ears, and he isn't half-faking sleep, he only comes around some when the cool breeze touches mounds of previously warmed skin. Hotch fiddles down his pants and fingers him probatively.

Eventually he finds what he was looking for, because Reid's back arches and he lets out a sexy sound that several men and three vibrating p-spot dildos have induced. It is followed by more petting and there is going to be some talk about this in the morning.

Fuck me once, one-night stand; fuck me twice, we're dating. The adage wasn't in any book he'd read, but it was on a bathroom stall so somehow it managed to burn its way in.

There is a warmth inside him, he knows fluids when he feels them, even if they are tidily held up in a spent condom, but the semi-hard, pulsing cock just twitching at the edge of his prostate is new. He's never slept with a cock up his ass for extended hours… but come the morning, Hotch still entwining him, he realizes even through the hangover and dread of loss that he may actually have gained something- someone in that darkest of night. Maybe Hotch also saw the adage.

Hotch says something quietly to him, something about how beautiful he looks when he sleeps, and suddenly there is a vague memory of a hand brushing back his hair in the past. He smiles, he can easily make this work.

Fin.


	7. 5 Times Reid Said Nothing n 1 He Did HR

The Five Times Reid didn't say a Word, the One time he did.

At first it was flattering, a lingering hand on his shoulder, that squeeze that Hotch knew full well it meant 'I wish that was your ass in my hand' he knew the signs, of course he did! He USED those signs, courting Reid all those months and months ago. But he knew Reid, he loved Reid, he wasn't some fucking stranger in a podunk little town east of Houston... so when he lets it slip that the detective is wearing the gayest hat he'd ever seen, he basked in the dirty looks.

Reid merely looked at Hotch as if he didn't have any idea what he was going on about, after all, cowboy hats were fashionable in Texas.

Inwardly, Hotch's mind screamed that Reid had to have known all along what his own lingering touches meant, so how was he not picking up on that? And in front of him no less.

The second time it happened was ten days later, Reid was undercover in a swank little burlesque-house just outside of Vegas proper as he carefully extracted information about the local pimps from the local cats who turned it 'legit' by exiting Vegas city limits. Dozens of hookers had been hitting on him, despite him arriving as a tax-man. No, Hotch and Reid were used to hookers picking up on him. When the pimp did it? He almost beat the man with a shovel, if he had, he'd have buried him behind the cat house a couple miles north and into the desert.

Reid's reaction to that son of a bitch touching his shapely ass? 'It was an accident, he said so himself.' He even smiled reassuringly.

What Hotch didn't know- would never know- was that the 'it was an accident' came immediately after Reid had ground the heel of his foot into the pimp's toes, probably dislocating one of them.

The third time had been after a fight, Hotch and Reid had discussed the possibilities of 'outing' themselves to the team. More precisely, Reid had brought it up, Hotch had went into a fierce explosion of why that was the worst idea in the history of mankind.

Reid had rolled his eyes, late in the game, and yes dear'ed him until the next day when Agent Anderson- a fucking AGENT started to swarm around Reid's desk, outright flirting, and not 'subtle flirting' like Emily dropping a pen near Rossi in a meeting to pick it up and leaving a hand on the thigh- no, this was much more like Garcia dropping a cup of pens and going down on Morgan while she 'picked them up' Okay, Garcia never did that... and it wasn't that blatant either... but Anderson was touching Reid's tie and tilting his neck and gabbing until Hotch barked out from the office. "Anderson, don't you have work to do in your OWN department?"

Reid shrugged, waved him adieu and went back to finishing off his pile of files for review.

Anderson bumped into Morgan in the elevator, "I thought you said he was single!"

Morgan gave him a strained look, "To my knowledge he is. He isn't?"

"That 'bug bite' on his neck looks a bit too much like a kissing fly for someone who hasn't been to Africa lately."

"What the hell does that mean?" Morgan asked, almost offended, almost.

"It means he has a hickey, that or mosquitoes have been exposed to Marvel-style radiation." The bummed out tone in his voice betrays his heart-break and Morgan hands him his cup of coffee. It's a shame, Anderson's a good up-and-coming kid.

However, now he wondered just WHO Reid was seeing, especially if he wouldn't even tell his best friend about it.

The fourth time had been the next day, the team was hovering around a small coffee shop waiting for their orders before they would load up on the jet and make flight clearance, they had an hour delay thanks to an approaching rain storm and threats of a tornado.

The barista was a bit too into Reid's 'latte', Morgan saw it, and in the past he'd seen Reid deflect it so smoothly, yet now he was doing nothing, acting as if this were normal conversation and he knew damn well the pretty boy knew what he was doing. So this was either 'the guy' or... he looked at Hotch who was all but shooting death-beams of authority from his eyes.

He didn't have proof, it could just be Hotch angry that Reid is hitting on a civilian while on the clock, but it confirmed what HE had to do.

Reid merely sipped his latte and laughed at the horrible joke, "Guess you have to go, huh? Don't want to be latte for your flight..."

Morgan paused, no, no he might not have been faking that reaction, Reid's sense of humor was rather... off.

Now, with something to think about, Morgan watched as Reid and Hotch interacted. There wasn't any outward tension between them, Reid was relaxed, mellow even, but Hotch did seem on-edge during the flight and even until that night, but afterward he was back to his usual demeanor. He and Reid had roomed together last night.

No, this wasn't Hotch being prickly about Reid being gay, for one, Hotch wasn't THAT guy, and two- much more important two, if he were that guy and spent the night with Reid he'd have been more stressed the next day, not less. It wasn't concrete, but Morgan knew he had to confirm his hunch.

The fifth time wasn't a pleasant experience by any standards. It had been four days later when the unsub had been almost completely cornered, he looked at Reid, training the gun on him demanding where the girls were being held and he smiled a wolf's smirk and raised his hands.

In the station they knew they had to use what little they had for rapport if they wanted to find two breathing girls. Reid had went in alongside with Prentiss.

The unsub ignored her entirely.

When he actually managed to work the screw out of the table and lunge at Reid- licking his face as he pushed him back to a wall, the room was so silent that Reid could swear he HEARD his sweatdrop hit the floor. He knew he heard Hotch's jaw hit it before Prentiss pried the creep off and Reid pinned his arms back. He didn't react to the handful of his manhood the jack ass got because namely, he needed the unsub alive to tell him where the girls were... which he did two minutes later once he was strapped into a restraint-chair the jail used for suicide-risk inmates.

Reid exfoliated his face that night in the shower and wouldn't even speak to the team- Hotch included- until the next morning when they flew back.

Morgan, seeing Hotch's state, and Reid's, decided to strong-arm a group dinner. He refused Reid's "not in the mood" and Hotch's "I'm too busy" bullshit excuses. He knew both were true, Reid's moreso than Hotch, but it didn't stop him.

In the words of the great David Rossi, This bullshit has gone on for long enough.

Garcia managed to find a quiet restaurant which had a rowdy bar on the first floor, the basement level a strangely atmospheric scene with comfy Oxford-furniture.

Morgan made sure to sit next to his best friend, which with what Reid went through didn't set off any flags to anyone, even if Hotch did sit opposite of Reid on the table.

Hotch's eyebrows flexed when Morgan put his hand on Reid's shoulder for a little too long to emphasize a point. He waved it away at first as Morgan being iconcerned/i. Sure enough, it disappeared three seconds later when Morgan flashed Hotch a look.

A look, a fucking LOOK, that smug look of a person who has an idea and is clearing it with him! Hotch's eyebrows flexed more sharply this time. This was bad.

"Hey Pretty Boy, what's the deal with you an Anderson?"

Reid looked at his best friend utterly lost for where this was coming from let alone why. "Uh... we work at the same place and he asked me about where a file was...? The last time I spoke with him was a week ago, he needed to review one of my reports for a write-up he's working on. Why?"

"Nothing, nothing... it's just, you know what, don't you worry about that." He smiled.

Reid frowned. This was not very un-Morgan like, but this was definitely Morgan-hitting-on-a-GIRL like, not Morgan-hanging-out-with-Reid like. "Morgan, are you drunk?"

"Man I had one glass of Merlot, and no one roofied me, not yet at least, right baby girl?" He said to Garcia with a wink.

"Damn, foiled this time!" She gestured as she pretended to push something into the bottom of her rather large, neon-pink boa purse.

"I could swear you're hitting on me on purpose, it's not funny. What happened yesterday SUCKED."

"Well, it's a good thing I'm not joking then, isn't it. Hotch, you don't have a problem with inter-team dating, do you?"

Hotch flinched, to either side of him was Rossi who sat next to Prentiss, and Garcia who sat across JJ. He clenched his jaw, "No... not particularly, if they keep things professional."

"Then there's no reason to object if boy wonder and I took a romp in the-" hay now would there be... would have been the answer if Reid hadn't dumped his Shiraz onto Morgan's shirt. "HEY what was that for?"

"I'm your best friend not a fuck-buddy and who do you think you are even suggesting something like THAT? I told you I'm not in the mood for your joke!"

"And I said I'm not jokin..." Morgan shook his head side by side as he said it with a touch of attitude that was more playful than angry. He didn't particularly like this shirt even if it did look good on him, the fabric was a bit too itchy, so this was a happy chance for him to lose it from the wardrobe guilt-free. He was about to lean into Reid for a 'prove it' kiss, but Hotch stopped him physically by pulling Reid to his own lips.

"Hands off, he's spoken for." Hotch says, releasing Reid from a two-minute long kiss between the table. Reid's shirt hem wrinkled from where Hotch had grabbed him, and with a slow smirk Reid gave Hotch a look.

"So you decided it would be okay to out us to the team after all, huh?" His smile erupted into a devious upcurl of lips, bringing up his puckered lips closer to his nose.

Hotch couldn't help but think, 'That smug little... genius.' What he didn't realize was that Reid was also completely in the dark to Morgan's plans, he just had better instincts to go with it.

Reid, on the other hand, merely confirmed why Morgan was his best friend... and was secretly thankful he could now openly vent to his friend about his relational issues from time and again.

Fin.


	8. Workplace Hazard HR

Sometimes there are real draw-backs to dating a coworker. More often than not these draw-backs are obvious things- like a fight at home carrying over to the job. However, sometimes, its the things that are brought back home that are even worse.

Reid supposed he'd need to find a therapist after this.

He realizes this far too late, this 'great windfall' a catastrophe to his psyche. He did not need a new fetish especially this with what they did for work.

Reid thinks this, as he keeps his eyes closed tightly as Hotch runs his hands up and down Reid's cuffed ones, he is chained to the bed, posing like the last victim to give insight into what the killer saw when he abducted, drugged, raped, and ultimately murdered a young woman.

With no outward signs of struggle, the pathologist concluded she had been doped to a state of near-death while he violated her, every hair was set to an exact position, she hadn't been able to move herself so how she was found was how he had posed her... while she was alive. After all, the unsub hadn't killed her with violence- he OD'ed her and left her to die on her own once he was finished with him.

Hotch moved Reid to pose him, while Hotch himself was clothed, Reid was in his undergarments, just as the victim had been reduced to. The scaling was similar to the room they found themselves in.

His hands meandered his lover's body, checking the measurements- if anything, Reid had theorized the unsub might have a particular form of dissociative personality disorders, the time-line that had spanned the crime was a very defined period of dusk, she had been in a hotel with westward exposure, it was as if her rise and fall of life had been contained in that short moment before the sun was swallowed behind mountains.

Timing this experiment, Hotch wearing green nitrile gloves as he watched the sunlight landing on Reid, his hand moved to mimic injecting the drug into Reid's nipples, which is where the pathologist suggested the injection site had been. He would never be so insensitive as to chain Reid down and approach him with a needle, so instead he merely coasted his hand over them at the suspected times. It fit, the theory- with only the one body, with only the one crime scene- seemed to fall directly into place.

He crawled onto the bed to reenact the next portion of the crime, the posing that they suspected came about. The height of the shadow during this kept within the clear delineations Reid had given as an outlier.

Hotch noted the tightness in his tented boxers. This was bad, it was also incredibly unprofessional to say the least, lover or no- this was a 'mock-crime scene' not role play sex! That said, he couldn't bring himself from keeping to the scenario. He smelled Reid's hair, trailing saliva down his neck, to his collar bone because with the light just dancing over it- it just felt... right.

Nothing about this was right, it was totally fucked up, hot... but fucked up. He pulled back. He should stop, stop the experiment, but the glow on his adam's apple... he leaned in and bit it gently, licking more. He kissed Reid on the lips, the fact that he was unresponsive seemed to make it a challenge, not a deterrent, so he started to pet his crotch heavily, and when he ejaculated and let out a soft "Ogh..." sound, he could have sworn he lost it.

Forsaking professionalism, and mock-up scenarios, this became role-play sex. Pure, unadulterated sex, and Reid to his part never spoke up as he slipped himself out of his pants and into Reid's tight hole, rimming him with his tongue and fingering him with the green gloves and a touch of menthol balm they keep in the kit for when they work on badly decomposed bodies and crime scenes there-of. If it tingles, Reid makes no outward sign save for his cock happily throbbing upward.

The one-sided sex is exciting, he's doing things to Spencer that he'd never gotten around to trying, yet not hearing any protest. It was unnerving... was it that he was okay with this or was he just trying to stay in character in case this led to a breakthrough?

It might have been a bit after the fact, after he came in his lover to realize this, but it deflated him fully all the same.

He uncuffed Reid and without waiting to hear from him, tucked himself in and walked into the bathroom. He was a mixed bag of disgust and enthrallment- he simultaneously never wanted to do that again and wanted to do it again tomorrow night.

When Reid came in and slipped his arms around his waist, he let out a breath.

"So I see I'm not the only person debating therapy after enjoying that..."

"...We... have got to stop bringing work home with us."

"True, that would be better. Side note, that was incredibly hot. Let's NEVER do that again."

"Agreed, on both counts. So, any insights?"

"Yes, we should check behind her ears for saliva trails, about actually catching him...? No. It confirms my theory, but it could be happenstance."

"Right. Well, I'll leave you to get dressed."

Fin.


End file.
